I'd Love to Hear It
by NykkiLeigh
Summary: ONE-SHOT: Mr. Freeman's POV when giving Melinda a ride to her mother's store during the blizzard.


**I'd Love to Hear It**

_Speak Fanfic –__Bookverse_

_**Rating: **__T_

_**Summary: **_Mr. Freeman's POV when giving Melinda a ride to her mother's store during the blizzard. Page 120.__

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><p>I slammed on the brakes. I hate the winter weather in Syracuse. It makes people drive like maniacs.<p>

I continued humming along to the Beethoven that was blaring through the speakers. I was just driving towards the bus stop when I saw a girl standing there. Who was crazy enough to be standing in the middle of a blizzard? I squinted through the wind and snow. Oh, it was Melinda! I turned down the radio and pulled up beside her.

She looked very deep in thought, but most of all, she looked cold. She didn't seem to notice me, so I honked my horn and she jumped about three feet in the air. I rolled down the window.

"Need a ride?"

She stared at me for a minute, almost as if she thought I was joking. I motioned for her to step in and she opened the door.

"Thanks." She said softly, closing the door behind her. She looked around the car for a moment before turning her brown eyes to me.

"No problem," I replied, and then pulled back onto the road. "Where are we headed?"

"The mall."

"Oh, that's only a little out of my way." I said aloud, pleased I wouldn't have to drive across town.

Melinda shivered and stared out the window, occasionally glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes. She always seemed like she was on guard, though you'd never realize it if you didn't study her – she barely said a word to anyone.

"So, why are you going to the mall? Meeting some friends?"

That's why girls went to malls, right? I'd heard the rumors about her and saw the way some kids treated her during the hellish hours in school, but the kid had to have friends, right?

Wow, I really need to get back into my music.

I looked at her and saw a small smirk form on her scabby lips. "No. My mother works at Effert's. That's where I'm going."

"Cool," I nodded. "I'd love to meet your mother." I had the image of a thin, young redhead with a great smile and that same artistic flare her daughter had.

Her head snapped around to me, her eyes widened in fear.

"Heh." I gave her a sheepish smile. "Maybe not."

Silently, she turned back to the window and started to brush the snow out of her already wet hair.

Was she afraid of me meeting her mother or her mother meeting me?

Melinda shivered again, holding her red hands in front of the vent. Honestly, I shouldn't be shocked she wasn't wearing any gloves; everything she wore seemed to be too small. I just thought her parents didn't have much money, but her mother worked at Effert's. I'd only seen the place through the windows or ads on TV, but it seemed like only the snooty rich people shopped (or worked) there.

I turned the heat all the way up and Melinda looked relieved.

After a few minutes, I glanced at Melinda. She was staring out the window again. I cleared my throat awkwardly.

"You did a good job with that cubist sketch."

No change in her face.

"I'm seeing a lot of growth in your work." I told her honestly. "You're learning more than you know."

"I don't know anything. My trees suck."

I smiled slightly and pulled into the left lane. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Art is about making mistakes and learning from them."

She was silent for a minute, but something changed in her expression.

Finally, she said, "All right, but you said we had to put emotion into art."

I nodded, inwardly grinning at the fact that _someone _listened to a fucking word I said.

Her words came out suddenly and quickly. "I don't know what that means. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her clamp her hands over her mouth. Despite her reaction, I knew she had to be relieved to talk. To explain herself to someone. I almost said that aloud, but didn't for the fear of offending her.

Since when did I care about _offending_ people? I really needed to rethink this new teaching thing.

"Art without emotion is like chocolate cake without sugar. It makes you gag. The next time you work on your trees, don't think about trees. Think about love, or hate, or joy, or rage – whatever makes you feel something, makes your palms sweat or your toes curl. Focus on the feeling. When people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time. You'd be shocked at how many adults are really dead inside – walking through their days with no idea who they are, just waiting for a heart-attack or cancer or a Mack truck to come along to finish the job." A little morbid, but true nonetheless. "It's the saddest thing I know."

Melinda doesn't say anything, so I figured she was taking in what I said.

"Over there," She points. "You can drop me off in front.

I pull up and wait. Surprisingly, she doesn't get out. She wants to say something to me. I just know it.

"Um, thanks." She fidgets.

_That's not all she wants to say. _"Don't mention it." I smiled. "If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me."

Melinda gave me a strange look before opening the door. I smiled. I got some emotion out of her. She pauses again, and then steps out.

"Melinda," I say quickly. She looks at me.

"You're a good kid," I said honestly. "I think you have a lot to say. I'd like to hear it."

She visible swallows and closes the door.

I watch her as she walks inside, not looking back at me once. I hope that sometime Melinda would feel okay about speaking to me. To tell me about her, release her demons.

Until then, I'll listen to every word she doesn't say.

**THE END**


End file.
